


Evening the Score

by nicayal



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: American Football, Catalan, Catalunya | Catalonia, Català, Gay Male Character, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Spain, barcelona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicayal/pseuds/nicayal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Axel has been waiting to watch his favorite college team's play-off game all season. Roxas wants to play a game of a different sort.</p><p>AkuRoku one-shot based on the prompt 'salsa', written for AkuRokuRiSo Month 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening the Score

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** : Salsa  
>  **Main pairing** : AkuRoku  
>  **Rating** : M (Vaguely sexual. Sexually vague. So it goes with me.)  
>  **Word count** : 3,420  
>  **Prompter** : [silvermyth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermyth) (heyyyy gurl, hey)

There was a cadence to their movement, a choreography that Axel had always liked. Seemingly spontaneous, he was well aware of how much time, how much careful planning and strategizing, went into every motion, into each individual section of customized steps. Likewise, he knew the challenges associated with errors, understood how much mental acuity was required to change course, to make an alternate pattern look as effortlessly planned as the original. Like evocative artwork, these details captivated him, held his attention like very little else.

So much technique, so very well-crafted when it was all properly executed.

To Axel, college football was an art form, plain and simple. No question about it.

 _American_  football, he amended with a slight roll of eyes into the void of an empty living room. He still found the distinction a bit tedious, unnecessary. That sentiment was driven by his decided lack of ventures beyond the United States' borders, at least up until now.

It'd been a verbal blunder turned shot of dumb luck, he was willing to admit, but only because it'd led him to Roxas who happened to be a particularly ardent fan of the game himself. Excited to find another fan conversational in English — and at a Barcelona nightclub only a week into his overseas work transfer, no less — Axel had near about talked the young man's ear off before they both realized their mutual mistake about what the word 'football' actually encompassed for Europeans versus America natives otherwise lacking in international sports terminology savviness.

Seated on a couch in Roxas' flat not far from the  _barrio_  of Gràcia, surrounded by the closest approximation of American snack food he'd been able to root out at the nearest  _Bonpreu_  market, Axel's attention was aimed at the flatscreen in front of him. Shoulders tense, expression rapt, he watched the final quarter of the college football play-off he'd been anticipating all season with fixation bordering on obsessive. Thanks to the miracle of modern technology, of high-speed internet connections, live feeds, and HDMIs, Axel took a moment to marvel at the novelty of watching a game live from nine time zones afield. Still a sunny mid-afternoon on the US West Coast, it was inching toward two in the morning over on Spain's eastern coast of Catalonia.

In a way, it kind of sucked to be stuck watching a game this pivotal in a country wholly indifferent to the greatest sport on Earth. Not that he'd've had a huge selection of friends to invite over back home anyway though, Larxene possibly excepted. It was a terrible stereotype, Axel knew, but most of his friends in the US were gay guys with near to zero interest in pro or college full-contact sports.

Which was kind of odd, he thought while reaching toward the coffee table and retrieving a package of crackers, considering football basically just amounted to watching beefy guys in tight uniforms running around and occasionally piling on top of one another. It wasn't a bad way to spend a few leisurely hours, even if you didn't understand the rules, in his view.

Roxas probably would have been willing to humor him this evening, if not for a previously scheduled night out with friends he'd been planning for weeks. As it stood, Axel found himself on his own watching football and eating poor excuses for American junk food.

He glanced at the table as the game paused for a commercial, eyeing his attempt at making salsa with considerable skepticism, unsure if he wanted to eat any more of it on one of his  _supermercado_  crisps. It just wasn't the same, even if he hadn't managed to somehow fuck up something as simple as chopped up tomatoes and a few other basic ingredients by making it arson-level spicy. Maybe it was dumb, but it'd never crossed his mind that it'd be nearly impossible find to something as simple as tortilla chips and a complementing dipping sauce in a country where Spanish was the official language.

Who the hell would've thought those confections were more likely to be found in an American-owned Tex-Mex restaurant than across the Atlantic Ocean? Axel really hadn't.

Ah, hindsight.

The game resumed its final few minutes at the same time as the soft click of a door opening, closing, and locking indicated Roxas had returned. Transfixed on the TV, nervily eyeing the neck-and-neck score at the bottom right of the screen, Axel filed the knowledge of Roxas' arrival into the back recesses of his mind, aware that he wasn't alone but mostly on a subconscious level. Right now, this game necessitated the whole of his active mental faculties.

" _Bona vespradaaaa_."

Vaguely, Axel heard the trill in Roxas' voice, the lightness in his tone after a night of dancing and drinking with friends. Eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him, he echoed the greeting in his head, not realizing he hadn't opened his mouth or uttered a word out loud in response.

Unfazed, Roxas half-skipped his way across the tiled floor of his flat, depositing his coat on a stand near the kitchen, then making his way on over. Rounding one side of the couch, he came to a stop near one chair arm, eyeing Axel who was still staring at the TV screen, body position rigid, unmoving, as he watched a player on his team of choice fumble a pass. Without a word, Roxas perched himself on the couch arm, gaze traveling between the room's two focal points.

"Oh, come  _on_." Voice a low murmur, speaking mostly to himself, Axel failed to notice the flickered intensity of blue eyes turning toward him. Same for the smile playing across pert lips. "That was clearly a penalty. Jesus."

Reaching for the bag of crackers on the table in front of him, Roxas held a single crisp out in front of him, expression turning a combination of amused and thoughtful. "And suddenly, he becomes  _religiós_. American football must truly be an  _esport de Déu_."

"Mmph," was the unarticulated word Roxas received in response. Given the acute nature of his present focus, it was all Axel could really manage, having only just heard the comment during a fleeting break in his otherwise singular focus.

With a roll of his eyes, Roxas slipped off the couch. Glancing at the scoreboard, noting the final few minutes remaining, he turned to Axel.

"Are you done with all of this?" Gesturing toward the food, Axel's eyes caught the fluttering movement. His mind wasn't as quick on the word rendering uptake.

"Uhm…"

Sighing under his breath, expression still good-natured, Roxas stepped in front of him. Suddenly, Axel's line of vision was blocked by form-fitting black dance pants. He leaned to one side to try to see around the newfound obstruction, but Roxas followed him in one fluid movement.

Gaze traveling upward, expression slightly desperate, Axel took in the crisp tailored button-up Roxas was sporting, only half processing how good the attire looked on him in his enduring distraction.

"Sorry, what?"

"The food," Roxas repeated, patiently enunciating each English word with care. "Are you finished with it?"

"Oh." Axel blinked, looked down at the half-eaten packaged food and the bowl housing his salsa. An opus of culinary innovation it was not. He'd only hazarded a few scoops before abandoning it to the coffee table food cast-offs. "Yeah. I'm done."

It was a patent relief when Roxas moved away, around to the side of the table to collect the food. During that time, the rival team had pulled ahead via a masterfully executed touchdown.

God damnit. This wasn't okay.

Leaning forward, digging his elbows into the top of both knees, Axel let out a quiet groan. Nearby, Roxas glanced up, then reached for the bowl of spicy liquid making a poor attempt at masquerading as legitimate salsa, quietly tutting.

"Such serious business, this American football."

Axel hardly heard him, barely noticed his subsequent retreat into the kitchen adjacent.

As Roxas shuffled around in the next room, Axel watched as one player threw the ball in a pass that just might lead his team closer to making up the difference in current scores.

It got intercepted.

"Fuck  _damnit_ ," Axel moaned, flopping against the back couch cushion, hands tugging at whatever hair they'd managed to grab in his frustration, exasperated expression rising toward the ceiling before he inclined his head back in the direction of the television. They were really cutting it close if they wanted to pull out a win here.

Padding back from the kitchen, noting that the remaining game time had only been reduced by a few paltry seconds, Roxas ambled back toward Axel, coming to a stop behind the couch, hands reaching for narrow shoulders, fingers subsequently kneading, offering a firm release of the tension that'd been building throughout the evening.

He leaned forward over Axel's shoulder, still rubbing adept circular motions, fingers steadying, both thumbs kneading tender muscles. For his part, Axel paused in his football game gawkery and turned his head to look at Roxas who offered a subtle smile before leaning closer, lips seeking his.

"Maybe, after this is done, we can—"

The roar of a sportscaster's voice at an unanticipated play snapped Axel's head back toward the screen, cutting Roxas off mid-offer. It also left lips brushing against the side of Axel's face, mouth still half open, sentence unfinished.

"Oh, good lord, this is gonna be down to the wire, isn't it? What're they trying to do here, kill me? Because it's fucking working."

As Axel muttered to himself, Roxas straightened, eyes narrowing, expression perturbed. A beat later, he walked off, back toward the kitchen. There he remained for a few minutes, the sound of clinking glass against a tile countertop filtering back into the living room, before Roxas reappeared and angled his way back to his previous position behind the couch.

It hardly registered with Axel one way or the other.

What ultimately did was the subsequent shock of a watery substance dribbled onto his ear. From there, it trickled a direct path down his neck, pooling in the natural hollow where throat met shoulder.

"Hey! What th—"

The words died in his throat as he felt firm lips on his collarbone, then the drawn-out tease of a gently lapping tongue. The curve of an emerging smile came next as Roxas pressed his lips together, still lingering at the base of Axel's throat.

" _Molt calent_ , this sauce of yours."

Sportscaster commentary quickly became nothing more than inarticulate background noise as the purring tone of Roxas' voice vibrated from Axel's throat down into his chest. He swallowed hard, felt lips travel upward along the tendon of his neck. A flick of a tongue against the lobe of his ear and the game was soon no more than a scattered memory, far-off and forgotten in light of Roxas' present efforts.

Roxas took his time cleaning up, working his way over Axel's ear, chuckling quietly at each elicited shiver. From there, lips traveled down again toward the base of his throat, toward one spot that never failed to circulate liquid heat into Axel's every extremity.

Anticipating Roxas' trajectory, Axel tilted his chin, reclined further, offering a better angle. Eyes closing to narrowed slits, he silently encouraged Roxas.

_A little further. Yeah, there. Now a slight bit over to one side, and…_

Roxas stopped.

Lashes fluttering, eyes opening at the abrupt halt of the resonate sensations, Axel glanced sideways, saw blue looking back, sensed lips hovering half an inch above him, warming his skin with every generous expulsion of breath.

"Hey …don't stop now." The words were murmured, tone encouraging. In front of them both, the game paused for another commercial, but Axel hardly noticed. His sole focus remained on the young man leaning over the couch behind him, on moist lips, and a knowing smile slowly rising at the corners of a mouth that knew its subject well.

Hot kisses trailed up and away from his collarbone, back toward one ear. There Roxas paused again, exhaled warm breath against Axel's cheek. A hint of dance club smokiness mixed with Roxas' natural scent, and it took all of Axel's willpower not to give purchase to a sound of longing discontent in response to the slow pace Roxas was setting.

One final, burning kiss, and Axel felt fingers trail down the same path Roxas' lips had just taken. They wrapped themselves firmly against the base of his throat, one at a time, each individual digit felt with every ensuing swallow on Axel's part.

Chest rising and falling in successive escalating measures, Axel's loss of composure was becoming increasingly evident. Still, Roxas remained calm, his breath tickling Axel's ear, steady and controlled.

"Tell me what you want." The directive was low, sensual, Roxas' throaty accent intensifying the electric prickling that was developing over every inch of Axel's body.

"You already know..."

The response was whispered, volume tapering to almost nothing as Roxas' fingers flexed experimentally against his throat, then released as they trailed lower, making their way with slow deliberateness toward the collar of Axel's shirt. One finger slipped under, then another, nails lightly dragging and abrasive with overt suggestion.

"Say it in Catalan,  _carinyo_."

Lips returning to Axel's neck, still not giving him exactly what he wanted, Roxas' full hand slipped under Axel's shirt collar.

Unable to wholly suppress a hoarse groan under Roxas' persistent ministrations, Axel tried to goad his mind into forming the right words. Given the lingering distraction of exploring fingers, of a mouth encouraging acute sensation into the tender flesh beneath it, English wasn't even coming to him all that naturally at the moment. The odds of him being able to say something in a language he had such a tenuous grasp on were probably lower than him swallowing his tongue and choking on it out of sheer physical frustration.

" _Tocame_ ," he finally uttered.

Quiet laughter followed, rang like crystal, soft and delicate next to his ear.

"Good try, but that's Spanish." Roxas' voice was lightly chiding, but he rewarded Axel anyway, mouth lowering, finally pressing against the spot he'd been deliberately avoiding up until now.

This time, Axel was even less successful at stifling the sound working its way up the back of his throat. Spurred by newfound heat pulsing from just below his navel, and the sparks of electric white Roxas was inducing every time he closed his eyes, Axel craned his neck toward Roxas. Lips finally met lips, and Axel reached behind him, fingers tangling into tousled hair at the back of Roxas' head as he pressed their mouths together.

Lips sweet from dance club mixed drinks, Axel felt pinpricks of deferred spice-induced heat pass from Roxas to him.  _Molt calent_ , indeed. Roxas hadn't been exaggerating.

Still able to feel Roxas' foxy grin against his own lips, Axel found himself becoming increasingly impatient, the pace too languorous, Roxas still too far away from him. He broke away just long enough to twist onto his knees, to face Roxas and pull him over the back of the couch, reclining until he was prone, shoulders and spine pressing into the couch cushion with Roxas straddled above him.

At some point since he'd begun his teasing, Roxas had unbuttoned the top half of his shirt. Leaning forward, arms braced on either side of him, Axel could see the lithe flex of a well-defined clavicle as Roxas held his upper body weight with his arms. He reached forward, unbuttoned what remained with manifest eagerness, caught a glimpse of Roxas grinning above him before he lowered himself close enough to nip, teeth lightly scraping against the hollow of Axel's throat.

Chest now exposed in front of him, Axel slid his hands forward, trailing past a flat stomach, then diverging, each taking a path opposite the other around Roxas' sides. Back muscles flexed, then released under his fingers' careful scrutiny, beneath nails teasing, trailing their way down to the edge of the elastic band of Roxas' pants. The pants were dark, made of a stretchy material to allow for fluidity of movement. Axel slipped a hand under the pliable fabric, felt the clench of a muscle in tantalizing response.

"How was dancing?" The whispered inquiry was followed up with an appreciative squeeze of firm, rounded flesh on his part, and a reflexive shiver from Roxas.

Pressing himself upright, forearms now bracing themselves against Axel's chest, cat-like, Roxas glanced down at him. "More enjoyable than your  _salsa_."

"Hey now." Eyebrow rising, Axel slid another hand beneath the elastic pant band, encouraging his lower body closer, then shot Roxas a mock-wounded look. "What was so wrong with it?"

" _Massa picant_."

Axel was offered a pout, and a lower lip made momentarily more prominent, tempting him to want to lean forward and drag his teeth across, maybe even elicit a shuddered moan if he played his cards right. The expression was gone a moment later, replaced by a demure look, Roxas' hips subsequently lowering to perform a slow grind against Axel's lap.

The corresponding sensation was delicious, torturous. All the while, Axel remained transfixed on Roxas' features, on a heart-shaped face, expressive eyes, and slightly downturned lips. The look gracing Roxas' face was sure, spoke of an inherent self-confidence that Axel had found alluring from the moment their paths first crossed in a Barcelona dance club months ago.

Now, blue eyes flickered off to one side, confident expression replaced by one that looked a little less certain, potentially even a tad guilty.

"I think your team, they may have lost."

Biting the inside of his lower lip, Roxas glanced back at Axel who turned toward the television screen where Roxas' attention had just been directed.

Sure enough, the game had ended, making way for commentator post-game discussion of the most pivotal plays.

And, in the bottom corner, the score scrolled past on its electronic ticker, confirming the words that Roxas had just uttered.

"Ah, shit. They were so close."

"Mm." Roxas inclined his head, brows furrowing into an expression of enduring sympathy. "And I distracted you. That was bad of me."

Still staring at the screen, surprised by how quickly time had passed, and how easily Roxas had managed to sidetrack his attention, Axel nodded, the action slow as if he was still lost in thought.

"Yeah…"

Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Roxas' frown deepen. It took a moment beyond that to run through their last few verbal exchanges and realize how his response could have been interpreted as a negative.

"Really, it's fine."

Head quirking, Roxas shot Axel a skeptical look.

"Yeah,  _vale_?"

" _Vale_." Axel confirmed, offering an exaggerated nod. "I mean, I obviously wanted to finish the game, but this," eyes traveling down to Roxas' exposed chest, fingers sliding up a little, then thrumming the bare skin at the lowest part of his back for emphasis, Axel offered a toothy grin, "definitely isn't what I'd consider a consolation prize."

Blue eyes lit up again and Roxas smiled his first genuine smile of the evening. It vanished a beat later, replaced by an expression that was considerably more ribald. Rocking back, he lowered his upper body toward Axel, offering a deep, open-mouthed kiss at the same time as his hips pressed against Axel again.

The kiss was slow, sensual. It sent a shiver of heat straight down Axel's spine, an appropriate match for the fluttering sensation still taking up residence in his lower abdomen as much as the prickling heat of salsa spice still teasing his mouth. This time when Roxas pulled away, it was to trail his lips down Axel's chin. Following the natural line of his jaw from beneath his throat on up to one ear, he paused, pressing cheek against cheek with affection, and offered another warm exhale of air before speaking.

" _Bé_ , you will at least let me make it up to you, I hope?"

Adept fingers working their way to the fly of Axel's pants left very little to the imagination as to what was encompassed in his offer.

With a rising grin of his own, fingers of one hand rising to tangle in blond hair again, Axel provided an answer that the physical reactions of his body had more or less already revealed throughout the course of the evening.

" _Certament_."

There was still a bit of disappointment from his team's recent defeat, sure, but with Roxas pressed against him and the night still young and promising, Axel couldn't help but feel like he'd still managed to come out a winner regardless.


End file.
